


Stranded

by Sandywolf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandywolf/pseuds/Sandywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Karkat are stranded together on a cold rainy night and have no choice but to share body heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be reading Jane Eyre but Homestuck is so much more interesting.

“I'm almost fucking convinced you pulled this shit on purpose.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“... actually, yeah, I'm pretty sure you _would_ , you little twerp. It was your fucking idea to leave camp, wasn't it?”

John sighs, but it comes out as more of a shudder, breath fogging up his glasses as he hugs himself tighter, “That's kind of ridiculous, don't you think? I mean, are you forgetting that _I'm_ stuck out here, too? And besides, I never said you had to follow along.”

Karkat is a ways away, feet crunching in frosty grass as he easily outpaces John. He almost snaps back, but decides against it, assuming it's better to keep all that hot air for himself.

“This really sucks.” John continues, voice a bit muffled, and Karkat spares him a brief glance, taking in that stupid pout and those ridiculously big eyes. He's annoyed, as he always is, but he's not heartless, pace slowing just a bit so John can catch up. Their proximity allows Karkat to leech off what little warmth John is giving off, and vice versa, but he knows it won't be enough.

“We should really find my Dad, he's probably worried sick.”

“I think we should be more worried about finding a place to rest for the night.”

John's eyes are wide, and just so _blue_ , and it's all he can do to turn away and ignore him as he says, “But my Dad -”

“Fucking forget your dad, you pansy ass nookwhiffer. Time to man up and help yourself.”

He wonders if maybe that was just a bit harsh, but John's chest is puffing out in some semblance of what he probably assumes is a tougher demeanor, “How's this?” He squeaks, cheeks puffing out as he holds all his air in.

Karkat just stares, “How is... how is what? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to man up.” John manages, voice implying that it's completely obvious, but it's only seconds before he blows the air out of his lungs and laughs. “Now my insides are cold.”

“Serves you right, fuckface.”

John smiles.

Karkat rolls his eyes.

Seconds later they remember the cold, and their arms creep up once more, desperate for warmth, teeth chattering noisily as they seek out shelter. John is entirely convinced that bedding down in a tree is the greatest idea _ever_. But after three failed attempts to haul his ass up into the branches of an old oak tree, Karkat gives up and dumps him on the ground.

“Alright retard, we're doing this my way now.”

Karkat's idea isn't much better, really. He spends five minutes throwing leaves and twigs in a pile then flops down on it, teeth chattering as he smirks, “Perfect.”

“You can't be serious.” John says, face blank. “Even my idea was better than that.”

“At least I'm trying, fuckass! The whole tree thing was just a ploy to get my hands on your ass!”

“What?! No way, man. I just wanted to make some sort of tree house or something, it would have been perfect, but you gave up too quick. We can find another tree, or a bush or something and just... just...”

John goes quiet, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and just stands there, eyes pitifully wide as he stares down at Karkat. Said troll only glares, breath coming in tiny little snatches of air until finally, “Karkat?”

“ _What_?”

“I uh, can't feel my toes anymore.”

Karkat looks down at John's shoes and finds them completely soaked through, the dew from the grass staining his pant legs where they drag, as well. He looks at his own, finds them to be the same, and sighs.

“Me either.”

They abandon the trees and the forest for a small grassy incline that leads them further and further upwards, towards the stars and the inky black sky. The moon is obscured by clouds that John prays won't expel rain, but a distant rumble tells him it's pointless.

It's all so sudden, the influx of clouds, because it had been a perfectly sunny day earlier, and everything had been just fine. His dad had propositioned a hiking trip, and John had brought Karkat along because the idea of talking about nothing but cakes and Betty Crocker made his hair stand on end.

Of course, the troll hadn't really wanted to come along, but he had regardless, due to an endless pester session in which John swore up and down that he'd make it worth the other boy's while.

But now... _now_.

Something hits the frame of John's glasses and he raises one hand for the briefest of seconds to wipe away a stray bead of sweat.

Only, it's not sweat, and Karkat is letting loose a chain of every expletive John has ever heard as he raises his arms up over his head.

Raindrops begin to patter all around them, and Karkat is the first to run, leading them back downhill and into the forest. John isn't far behind, breath fogging his glasses so badly that it's all he can do to keep his eyes on his friend's back. They don't really know where they're going, but Karkat is leading them as well as he can, tumbling blindly through underbrush and fallen tree limbs, searching in vain for something, _anything_ to hide under as the rain pours down.

He nearly breaks his nose as they erupt from a patch of trees and run straight into an abandoned cabin, one whose walls are swaying as the wind picks up. But they take it, and John is the first through the door, nearly tripping over himself as he tumbles inside.

Karkat finds it strangely cliché, and also just a bit too convenient, but the door is closing behind him and the rain is finally off his back and he's just _grateful_ that he doesn't have to run anymore.

But it's still so goddamn _cold_.

“Agh,” John grimaces, already reaching for his soggy shoes. “this is so gross. I bet my feet are as wrinkly as one of those Shar Pei dogs. Haha, wouldn't that be funny? A dog with human toes?”

“Humans are disgusting.” Karkat scoffs, but the bite is taken right out of his insult as he sneezes. “And I thought a sharpie was a writing utensil.”

“Shar _Pei_ , dummy. It's a dog. You know, like a Lusus or something.”

“You cannot even begin to fathom how much I don't fucking care, John.”

“Oh. Okay... So that must mean you're more of a cat person, right?”

Karkat's palm meets his face, and John only smiles, hands rubbing his feet as he wills warmth back into them. The cabin is too fucking cold for arguing though, so Karkat keeps his mouth shut, palms rubbing his forearms as he walks around the house in search of supplies. Matches, for one, would be a, as Gamzee puts it, _motherfucking miracle_.

But the kitchen, or what's left of it that is, is in shambles, all the drawers pulled out, cutlery spilling over the floor, and in the debris he finds nothing useful save for a warped butterknife. One which he plans to end his pathetic life with should John's chatter from the other room begin to be too much for him to handle. He ventures back into the living room and doesn't pause to inquire as to why John's shirt is in a heap beside him, too concerned with the blood pumping through his veins, and how icy it seems to feel.

Blankets. They really, _really_ need blankets. Their clothes are soaked through, sopping wet and heavy against them, and Karkat peels his shirt off his chest as he makes his way to a staircase tucked into the corner.

“Nothing useful up there.” John says, but Karkat ignores him, ascending the first three steps before he realizes that something about the staircase is definitely not right. He blinks into the darkness, head cocked, and finds the next seven or eight to be completely missing, mold and splintered wood sitting in a heap before him.

“You've gotta be shitting me.” He growls, but returns to the living room, arms flailing. “Goddammit John, you've finally done it. You've finally fucking killed us. Are you proud of yourself? You should be! I don't think any other human or wriggler or troll alike could have pulled this off so brilliantly. We have no blankets, no matches, no warm clothes, and this place is a fucking – what the hell are you doing?”

He almost blushes, head turning away as he raises a hand to his eyes. John is laughing, hopping on one foot as he yanks his jeans off with a sickeningly wet sound, “Don't you watch tv?”

“What does tv have to do with this... this stripping thing? Why are you – _Jegus_ , John, have some decency!”

“Don't be such a prude Karkat, I'm freezing my ass off over here and these clothes aren't helping. That guy on tv, the one who goes out and tries to survive in really weird conditions? Well I remember him saying once that it's a really, really bad idea to keep wet clothes on. When it's cold, at least.”

“So you'd rather run around with your ridiculous human genitalia hanging out than sit and shiver, I dunno, _quietly_?”

John is quiet for a minute, face suddenly solemn, and despite how far away he is Karkat can see just how hard the other boy is shivering. He feels bumps rising on his own arms and realizes his breath is still puffing out in great plumes of fog, and he feels almost guilty.

Almost.

“I'm cold, Karkat.” John says, and his voice is soft and quiet, nothing like his usual, effervescent self.

Karkat sighs, “I know.”

Silence brews between them, and John suddenly finds himself embarrassed, the flush of heat down his neck warming him just a bit as he stoops to retrieve his soggy clothes. He chucks them in a corner not too far away and then flops down, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of light blue boxers. And while they're like ice against his skin, he leaves them on, knowing that it would probably only make things even more awkward than they already are.

But Karkat is suddenly pulling his shirt off too, fingers trembling as he throws it in the general direction of John's clothes, and his shoes and pants follow quickly after. He catches John staring and almost goes to put them back on, but it feels so much with them off.

“I'm only doing this because I'm literally about to go into fucking hypothermia or something, so don't freak the fuck out or anything, fucktard.”

John smiles, those derpy teeth flashing at him as he wraps his arms around himself once more and sits not too far from the boy. “Nice underwear, Karkat.”

Karkat flushes, growling, “For fucks sake, John, that's... holy shit, that's not something you say to another guy, what are you doing? I thought you weren't a, a uh, whatever the flying fuck you people call it.”

“Oh, don't get all excited, I'm just teasing, okay?”

“Sure you are.”

They lapse into silence once more, and Karkat inches just a bit closer, reaching out for the warmth John seems to be giving off. The boy doesn't seem to notice, just curls in on himself a bit more, breath heavy and deep. Karkat can almost hear his heartbeat, fluttering like a tiny little bird against his ribcage, and he tries to remember just whose fault this is, unable to feel anything but responsible.

If he'd only tried a little harder, he might have been able to get them back to John's dad, wherever he might be. They wouldn't have been caught in the rain, or tired beyond belief, or freezing to death in some fucking cabin in the middle of who knows where.

His teeth are chattering almost painfully now, and he digs a little deeper, searching for warmth that's just not there.

But John. John is warm.

Karkat scoots a little closer, hoping the boy won't care, but their arms brush for just a second and John turns his head up at him, “Um, what's up?”

“I guess your tv guy didn't say anything about sharing body heat, did he?”

He's not really looking at him, but the flush that passes over John's face is unmistakeable, a fierce contrast to the ghostly whiteness of his skin, “Ah, what? Sharing body heat? What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means... no, fuck it, never mind, it's stupid anyway.” Like hell he was going to, to _cuddle_ with John, of all people. He didn't care if it caused him to freeze to death, to turn into some sort of Karkat _popsicle_ , candy apple red flavor, of all things. He wasn't going to rely on something as weak and frail and small as John Egbert.

John Egbert, who was curling further and further into himself.

“Karkat?”

“What.”

“That body heat thing. With the sharing? I uh, I think I actually _do_ remember the tv guy talking about that. He said it's _definitely_ something you should do, especially if you're so cold you can't feel your fingers anymore.”

“... no homo?”

“Uh, what?”

Karkat growls, tugging on his hair a bit as he struggles to keep his anger in control, “This is just... if we do this, there will be nothing sexual about it in any fucking way, right?”

“Right, of course, it's just two guys hugging each other to keep warm.”

Karkat groans, pressing his fists into his eyes, then throws his knuckles down and says, “Yeah, sure, if you've gotta say it like that, then alright.”

“A-any time then.” John's cheeks are bright red, teeth clacking nervously as he turns slightly, slowly, and just stares at Karkat, waiting for him to make the first move. The troll growls a bit, can't believe he's really doing such a thing, then scoots a bit closer. He stays that way for a moment, realizes that it's not helping in the slightest, then moves even closer, arm awkwardly coming to rest on John's shoulder.

John can't believe that such a thing is really happening, eyes closing behind his glasses as he tries to pretend that it's a _girl's_ arm around him and not, not _Karkat's_ of all people. But it doesn't matter for long, because the troll is warmer than he'd ever thought he'd be, and he can't help but relax into it.

They stay that way for awhile, saying nothing, staring into space as they listen to the patter of rain on the roof over their heads. Karkat briefly imagines a scenario in which it simply caves in and crushes them both, which would surely be the only way for him to redeem himself after stooping to such a level.

A level upon which his arm is tightening around John's shoulder, and their sides are so flush that he can actually feel the pounding of the boy's heart beneath his skin.

\- - -

What feels like hours later, John's head lolls against his chest and his breath becomes stable, his body still cold, but numb to the outside world as he falls into fitful dreams. Karkat tries to keep himself awake, knowing that it probably isn't a good idea to sleep when it's so fucking cold, but his eyes are heavy and it's all he can do to keep himself upright as he too embraces oblivion.

\- - -  
John isn't sure what wakes him, dreams edging along the edge of his subconscious, visions of his father and cakes and a nice warm bed disappearing as he jerks into consciousness.

The rain is falling harder than ever, and a patch of lightning flashes outside the window. He flinches away, but finds he can't go far, and a sudden, heavy weight tells him that something about this isn't quite right.

Eyes glancing down, his body goes still, and he realizes why it's so deliciously warm.

Karkat is sprawled over him, having toppled them over, arms thrown around John's neck, one leg slung over both of the boy's and the other pressed against his side. John can feel the troll's heart beating against his own, can feel the rumble of Karkat's snoring and the wet spot on his neck where drool has settled. The troll's nose is pressed against the side of his neck, almost nuzzling him, and John realizes his arms are trapped beneath Karkat's chest, and that they're completely numb.

He's not sure how he feels about having another, another _boy_ thrown over him, but it's warm and he's still just a bit cold, so he wriggles one hand free and loops it around Karkat's back, tracing awkward circles.

Because the troll's back is probably cold, he reasons, and he knows that if his back was exposed to the elements he'd probably want someone to rub it for him, too.

Karkat nuzzles closer, breath fanning out over him, and he stills once more, waiting for the troll to wake up and for the wrath of a thousand suns to wash over him. Any second now he expects those dagger sharp claws to dig into his entrails and to pull them out like confetti, to string them up around the cabin like some sort of macabre version of Christmas lights. But Karkat just pulls him closer, and John grimaces a little at how tight the other teen's grip is.

His panic ebbs a little, and he resumes the patting of Karkat's back, trying to fall asleep once more because Gog forbid he's awake when the troll wakes up. He can picture the way his eyes will widen, and the look of disgust that will surely cross his features, so he just relaxes and enjoys it while he can.

Well, he doesn't enjoy it, because that would be, uh, would be...

 _Dammit Egbert_.

He wrenches his other arm free and pulls Karkat closer and just forgets all his rules, because none of it matters right now and all he really cares about is getting warmer. Forget the fact that this is another boy, and forget the fact that Karkat's leg just slipped between his own because it's all good.

It's all good.

But hell if all that skin doesn't feel good.

\- - -

The sun is bright outside their window the next morning, and Karkat is the first to wake. Limbs heavy with sleep, muscles pleasantly warm, and for a few minutes he just lays there and tries to remember where the fuck he is.

The day before is a bit of a haze, and he's still half asleep, but there's definitely something beneath him, and it's definitely alive and _holy shit it's John_.

He moves to pull himself away but something is holding him down, keeping him pinned, and he realizes that it's John's arms wrapped around his back and _fuck_ if that's not the last thing he expected to wake up to.

Not that he's... well, it's not unpleasant or anything. But he'd never say it aloud, and he's definitely not admitting that he'd ever even thought such a fucking ridiculous thing, and he wonders if he's gone batshit insane in his sleep because instead of rolling way like he should he's curling closer, and fuck it's so _weird_.

But John's just laying there, glasses askew, and he's not exactly pushing him away or anything, so... just a few more minutes.

Only a few more becomes even fewer when John suddenly jerks awake, the press of a cold nose against his neck jolting him out of unconsciousness, and his eyes meet Karkat's as they slowly, _slowly_ pull away from one another.

“Um.” John says, and Karkat mimics it, lost for words.

They're both nearly naked, clothed in nothing but skimpy underwear, and the bright red flush creeping down John's chest is painfully obvious.  
“Um.” John mumbles again, completely inelegant, and he just stares, waiting for something to happen.

Karkat is unsure as to what he's supposed to do, so he falls back on anger, a comfortable place, “This never fucking happened.”

And John only smiles, an awkward quirk in his lips as he straightens his glasses, “ _Sure_. Let's just forget that you totally glommed all over me all night.”

“I don't know what you're fucking on about, but it sounds like the jabbering of someone whose about to get their face smashed in.”

“Whatever you say, Karkat.”

\- - -

Their clothes are still wet, but the sun outside is warm and it shouldn't be long before they're dry once more. Karkat is completely avoiding John's gaze, but it's heavy on his neck and he knows that the boy will never let him live the events of the night before down. He settles for pacing at a much faster rate than ever, and ignores the laughter echoing behind him.

\- - -

Later that day, they find John's dad at the edge of the forest, and John runs to him with open arms, practically throwing himself at the man. Dad takes it in stride and hugs him close, puffing smoke from a pipe that hangs loosely on his bottom lip. Karkat averts his eyes, feeling awkward, and waits for it to pass, ready to go home and forget everything that had happened.

But as they leave John remains at his side, and the boy's hand is brushing against his own, soft to the touch.

Karkat says nothing, but extends his fingers just a bit, allowing John's to fit snugly beside them.

Because at least this way, if John tries to stray off the path again, he can pull him right back.


End file.
